They did agree to my one demand, which made my silence slightly more palatable, and in return, they knew the threat of them revoking our deal ensured my silence.
The “on the record” story, for what it’s worth, was that Hakim was killed in an airstrike on the Pakistani/Afghan border. They credited information discovered in the Syrian bunker in finding the elusive terrorist leader.
His key followers, Liam Scott and Manny Ontiveros—the West Palm Pirates—found their end on the bottom of Charleston Harbor. While they were being escorted back to shore from Fort Sumter, they somehow were able to go overboard, and commit suicide.
While the means might be sketchy, the ends were that Huddled Masses was no more, and America could take a deep breath of relief. And for all intents and purposes, Al Muttahedah was done. Sure, there were still many followers and sympathizers out there, but without the leadership of Hakim or Qwaui, the ship was rudderless, and was now nothing but salvage. In the end, Hakim’s chemical attack turned out to be an epic fail, and his final battle was a devastating loss. He went out with a whimper, but if he really knew his history, he could have predicted such—it was the Roman generals, long before General Washington, who coined the phrase all glory is fleeting.
And he didn’t even get any credit for the creation of Huddled Masses, and their fifteen minutes of infamy. History would record its mastermind, as it often does, as being someone who couldn’t refute the claims. And in this case it was a disgruntled reporter, Nora Reign, who was declared dead the last week of April.
It was a smart attempt by her to put herself into a diabetic coma by not taking her insulin, as it forced her out of prison circulation, where her murder was a certainty, and into a situation where she was under heavy scrutiny. She was playing the odds, by limiting the number of her potential killers, but in the end she was right, she wouldn’t make it to that trial. She knew too much. I hoped for Dr. Kevin Sturges’ sake that he was working on similar survival plans.
I took another look at the picnic area, and I noticed the most gorgeous creature I’d ever seen heading in my direction. Now the day was officially perfect.
Chapter 73
The camera hanging around Gwen’s neck bounced as she walked briskly toward me. It reminded me of a similar moment at the Rockfield Fair last year, but the circumstances were much different this time.
She wore her “Class of” T-shirt with shorts, and was rocking her Jackie O sunglasses. Upon reaching the bottom of the slope, she put her camera to her eye and aimed it up in my direction. “I need a shot for the reunion yearbook … you won Class Loner.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. She knew me too well—my comfort zone was observing life from a distance, and telling its story.
She climbed up next to me and took a seat. She draped her arm around my shoulders. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
“I actually had an enjoyable time.”
“That’s good to hear, because we just voted you head of the committee for twenty-five year reunion.”
“Twenty-five years? I’m just trying to get through the next one unscathed.”
I thought back to one year ago today, when I was stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway with Lauren Bowden, returning from a weekend in the Hamptons. So much had happened since then that it almost deserved its own reunion.
We stared out at the waning festivities. “We’ve come a long way since high school, huh?” Gwen said.
“Yeah, about twenty years.”
“Thanks, Mr. Literal. I’ve had at least ten people tell me this weekend that I haven’t changed at all. Haven’t I changed?”
“This is a trick question, isn’t it? I’m not answering without my lawyer present.”
“I know they mean it as a compliment, but how sad would it be if I really hadn’t changed at all in twenty years?”
“We have changed, we just haven’t aged,” I said with a grin.
“Well, for the record, I like what we’ve evolved into. But also that the core things I love about you have remained untouched.”
It was perfectly said, and I should have just left it as is, but I couldn’t, “I like touching your core things.”
She smiled, but I could tell she was lost in her own thoughts. “What do you notice about everyone here but us, JP?”
“That none of them have recently stopped a potential civil war, or shut down an international terrorist organization?”
“Since Allison played as big a role in that as we did, that would be a no. The correct answer is—we’re the only couple here without kids.”
“We do have a very fertile class. Erica Marks has a seventeen-year-old. They just went looking at colleges last weekend. How is that even possible?”
“Can you imagine being parents when we were like twenty? We couldn’t even take care of ourselves back then.”
She caught herself, and began backtracking, “I didn’t mean it to sound like we’re ready now … or implying … I was just making an observation.”
“I know what you meant. And if that time ever comes for us, we’ll know.”
“The universe will tell us, right?”
I smiled devilishly. “You know, we could go home and practice just in case the universe calls.”
“I read somewhere that you have to set roots before you sprinkle seeds.”
“Fortune cookie?”
“I think it means that it’s about time you get serious about buying that farm. That is, if you really plan on setting some roots here.”
“I don’t want to buy a farm.”
“So it was all talk then?”
“Not exactly—I want us to buy a farm.”
She reached over and gave me a deep kiss. I took that as a yes, or at least a definite maybe. “How about we go say goodbye to the gang, and then go home and start practicing?”
“You mean …”
“Exactly—we need to practice raising chickens, chopping wheat, and whatever else they do on a farm.”
She stood, and pulled me to my feet. For the first time in a long time it wasn’t necessary. My lungs were back to full capacity, the concussion symptoms hadn’t returned, and the only thing not back to full strength was my knee, but it was on its way. Things were looking up.
Gwen took a couple of steps down the slope and her phone rang. When she answered it, her face turned serious. “We’ll be right there,” she said.
She looked back at me with urgency. “JP—it’s your parents.”
Chapter 74
Gwen had no answers to my many questions as she drove the Gazette van to my parents’ house. I felt a bad case of déjà vu coming on.
The first thing I noticed upon arriving, was that there were no ambulances or any type of emergency vehicles. When we went inside, my mother and father were sitting on the couch in the living room.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” My father said. “Come sit down, we have something to tell you.”
Here it comes. The life-changing news—my father’s prostate cancer had returned, and spread. Or there was something wrong with my mother. My stomach gripped.
I wasn’t going to sit down. That’s what they always say in the movies—sit down for the bad news—I was going to stand.
My mother began, “As you know, when we were on vacation, we drove down to see Byron and Tonya in Charleston. Well, we stayed overnight, and decided to take a day trip to Savannah the next day, which is only about a two-hour drive. I was excited to see all the history there, but there was so much more. We absolutely fell in love with the place.”
“We loved it so much we bought a house there,” my father added.
“You bought a house? That’s what was so urgent?” I said. “So nobody’s dying or anything like that?”
“We’re going to live, but where we’re going to be living is what we wanted to discuss with you.”
“We’re in the process of selling our house here, and we are going to move to Savannah in November, after I fulfill my duti
es as first selectman.”
I felt like I’d been hit by a rocket ship. “You can’t move.”
“Not only can we, but we are,” my mother replied, strangely smiling at this terrible development.
“But you’ve lived here for over forty years. How can you just pick up and leave like that?”
My mother turned to my father. “I told you we needed to break it to him slower. I know my children, and JP does not do well with change.”
“I can’t believe you would just sell this place to a stranger. To move to some dangerous place,” I continued. “Savannah’s in the same state as Fort Benning, where that lunatic tried to blow up the base. And not that far from Fort Sumter … it could have been you held hostage there that night.”
My mother just grinned at me. “Oh, JP, your beauty is that you don’t even recognize the irony of your words. And would this danger be anything like having our property burned to the ground?”
She had a point, and to be honest, any place away from me was likely safer.
“Listen, JP,” my mother said, in her consoling voice. “Your return here, and all that’s gone on this past year, have shown us how important it is to live life. Your father and I had gotten to the point that we were documenting history more than making it. We realized it’s time for our next adventure.”
“After a politician retires, there’s only one more big election left, so we want to make the most of our time,” my father put it more succinctly.
“We wouldn’t feel good about this if things weren’t in order here. But you two have each other now. And I have full confidence in Ethan and Pam taking over the historical society—Pam has been helping me there for so long, she can probably run the place better than I can, anyway.”
“And it’s not like we won’t be back to visit the grandchildren at every opportunity,” my father added.
“And as far as selling to a stranger, we’re hoping it doesn’t come to that, JP.”
“That’s why we brought you over here. We wanted to offer you the first chance to buy the place before we put it on the market.”
I looked to Gwen, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
“We’re running an interview with your father in tomorrow’s Gazette, in which he discusses their plans for retirement—they wanted to tell you before you learned it from the press.”
I turned back to my parents. “I knew you liked her better than me.”
“Regardless of our feelings about Gwen, you’re the one we’re offering first dibs to,” my mother said.
I turned back to Gwen. “If you sell it to both of us, then we have a deal.”
When Gwen gave her approval, after I agreed to her numerous conditions, hugs abounded, and a victory bottle of champagne was uncorked.
As dusk descended on the sun-soaked Memorial Day Weekend, I stepped outside, not sure what just happened. I was setting roots, while my parents were pulling theirs up? As Gwen and I walked to the colonial, arm in arm, I stopped and took a sweeping look around the yard, taking special note of that old oak tree we used to climb. It felt like it was for the last time, which was strange, since I’d just made a long-term commitment to the place.
“Are you sure about this, Gwen? Living together is a big step.”
“Who said we’re going to live together?”
“When two people buy a home, that’s usually how it works.”
“There’s two houses, so I figure I’ll just pick the one I like better, and then you can go live in the other one,” she said as we stepped inside the colonial, and made our way up to the bedroom. “And you’re the one who should have doubts, not me—living with the woman who always runs toward the storm might not be good for your health.”
“I think the storm clouds are starting to subside. You’ll be bored with me before you know it.”
We stopped at the edge of the bed, and jaws fell open. “Why do I think that will never be the case?” Gwen commented.
On the bed was a dress. The one that Gwen wore last year on New Year’s Eve, and had left at the brownstone. Until Jovana ran off with it.
There was a note attached: I apologize for taking so long to return this, I’ve been traveling quite extensively this past month. Hopefully you won’t need me to save your asses anytime soon.
We just looked at each other—ghosts do come back to life. I had no idea how she got out of there before it blew, and probably never would. I was just glad the avenging angel was alive, and that she was on our side.
I went to the window and looked out over the backyard, watching as the setting sun cast its glow behind the trees. It looked different to me, and not just because of the fire damage. And when I felt Gwen’s arms wrap around me, I understood why. I no longer saw the past; for the first time in a long time I was looking at the future.
***
Thank you for reading Huddled Masses!
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The adventures of JP Warner continue in Psycho Hill. Please check out the preview in the pages that follow.
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Books by Derek Ciccone
Featuring JP Warner (in order)
Officer Jones
Huddled Masses
Psycho Hill (See preview starting on next page)
Confederate Gold
Stand Alone
Painless
The Trials of Max Q
The Truant Officer
The Heritage Paper
The Jack Hammer
Kristmas Collins
Preview—Psycho Hill
Chapter One
Rockfield, Connecticut
October 4, 1959
Poca picked out the tall, athletic-looking boy in the green and gold letterman jacket. With his movie-star good looks and wavy blond hair, it seemed that he better belonged in a California beach movie, hanging with Frankie and Annette, than as a senior at Rockfield High.
Standing out from the crowd was the one thing she and Archie had in common. Her father, Chief Vayo, had instilled in her that she was born into much responsibility. She wasn’t like the others, no matter how hard she tried to fit in. But that’s where the similarities ended.
She deadened her stare on him, and asked, “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” he replied. It was the only answer—choosing “truth” would put him at the mercy of secrets he could never reveal.
The group buzzed; echoing off the nearby abandoned building. Or maybe it was the ghosts crying for help, as the story went. The October night did feel like it was straight out of a haunted tale, especially in these surroundings, and with the only light coming from the administration building far in the distance.
All eyes were on her now. The girls, in their poodle skirts with bobby socks, had jealousy in their eyes. Poca had heard their mocks behind her back about her “cheap squaw” clothing, and their Monday morning gossip session would surely center on the body-hugging, suede corseted dress she had on tonight, that she wore with no shoes, despite the dropping temperatures. But she planned on giving them something much bigger to talk about.
Her stare deepened, and Archie began fidgeting with the leather sleeves of his jacket. She held tight until the expectation reached its peak, and then blurted out, “I dare you to kiss me.”
The request drew a few hoots and hollers from the boys, and icy glares from the girls. But she could sense a letdown—she was known for her daring ways, and a simple kiss seemed rather pedestrian.
Archie looked like a deer in the headlights. The athle
tic fields were his comfort zone—he was out of his element here. But he was able to gather himself, and took a step in her direction.
The tension grew as he moved closer. Poca didn’t move a muscle until he got so close she could smell his aftershave. And when he tilted his head to kiss her lips, she abruptly bolted into the darkness. “You have to catch me first,” she called out.
Archie stood stunned, perhaps having second thoughts. So she added some more inspiration, “Unless you’re a scaredy-cat!”
She knew the words would spark his male ego, and she soon heard his powerful footsteps behind her, his long strides making up the distance in short order.
She was equally swift, and more nimble. Her tight dress worked more as a second skin than a hindrance, as her bare feet flew over the dewy grass. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and her knowledge of the terrain proved invaluable.
She would allow Archie to get just close enough that he could almost reach out and grab hold of her, and then she would speed up again. She ran into the open entrance of Milford Hall—once a residence for psychotics and addicts, but long since abandoned.
She heard Archie enter, his powerful gallop giving the impression that he might crash through the dilapidated floorboards. With all the stories told about this place, she could only imagine the horrors that might be hidden beneath the floors.
She made her way through the dark corridors; her heart feeling like it would leap out of her chest. As she heard him get closer, she slipped into a room, and found herself cornered. She ran back out, bouncing off a confused Archie in the process. He reached for her, but it was like a bear swatting at a fly.
Once outside, she sucked as much fresh air as she could into her lungs and took off across the 500-acre grounds. She felt the spirits of the past—both of her ancestors and the tortured souls who died here.
She entered the next building, finding herself in a cavernous room with two-story-high ceilings. A pale moonlight shone through the remains of the Gothic windows. It was the cafeteria, which at one time fed the few thousand residents that made up Farm Ridge Resort.
Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2) Page 28